


So Put Another Dime in the Jukebox, Baby

by littlerobbergirl



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F, Girl Band, Period Typical Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerobbergirl/pseuds/littlerobbergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> As their lips slide together, Santana's brain shuts down, and everything she's worried about - Sugar's inability to play even the simplest riffs, whether they're ever going to get an actual paying gig, how many more conversations she's going to have with her parents about her 'future plans', where they strongly hint that those plans better not include 'rock band' or 'Brittany' in them - it all vanishes.</em>
</p><p>It's 1985 and 22-year-old Santana, her girlfriend Brittany, and their friends are trying to start an all-girl rock band in Lima, Ohio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Put Another Dime in the Jukebox, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/gifts).



> I tried to be as accurate as possible when it came to the decade, but given that my 'research' was a combination of my childhood memories of the '80s and a lot of googling, it's possible there are still some anachronisms. In that vein, I used the term 'Oriental' to refer to a character of East Asian descent at one point, because that's the term that was used at the time, including by East Asians themselves. Nothing derogatory is meant by it. However, I did downplay the homophobia of the time somewhat, mostly because I wanted to keep this on the fluffy side.
> 
> Finally, my Spanish is rusty. So please let me know if there are any errors.
> 
> [Title is from 'I Love Rock n' Roll', famously covered by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.]

“Sugar, it would be helpful if you actually played in rhythm with the rest of the band. Since you are, you know, the rhythm guitarist,” Santana snarks as everyone grinds to a halt for the fourth time that day.

The soundproof basement that’s doubling as the band’s rehearsal space smells like sweat and month old laundry, which is only partially their fault. One of the conditions of using the Pierces’ basement is that Brittany’s supposed to do her family’s wash. But she has a tendency to forget to switch clothes from the washer to the dryer, so everyone in her family usually has a faint smell of mildew. Unfortunately, renting a space is out of their budget, so this will have to do. It’s a bitch lugging the equipment (and Artie and his chair) up and down the stairs every time, but at least Brittany’s drums only have to come up when they have a gig, so it could be worse.

Sugar looks up from adjusting her fingers on the frets and rolls her eyes. “Listen, I don’t have to do this. My dad is totally willing to pay for a place in Los Angeles while I break into acting. The casting agent for _Dynasty_ told me that I have the looks to play Alexis Carrington’s daughter.”

“I’m pretty sure that a casting agent for a hit TV show doesn’t hang out at the 7-11 in Lima, Ohio, but whatever helps you sleep at night,” Santana mutters, checking the amp for signs of overheating. They’re using third- or fourth-hand equipment, and it has a tendency to go up in flames if they’re not careful.

"The fact of the matter is, Sugar, that you're pretty superfluous. So, unless you start taking these rehearsals a little more seriously and spend some time actually working on your technique, rather than just practicing your best MTV poses, we can always kick you out," Quinn evenly states.

Sugar's head whips up, and she stares at Quinn, a mixture of confusion and annoyance on her face. "Super-what? Stop using those college words, Quinn, especially since you dropped out. And, do I need to remind you that my father is paying for a lot of our equipment _and_ our costumes. So, maybe it would be a good idea if you didn't threaten me."

Rolling her eyes, Santana adjusts her mic and says, "Okay, okay, lets run through this song two more times, so that we can actually play it on Thursday. We have a twenty minute set, and I'd rather not play the same two songs twice this time. Brittany, count us off please."

"Off what?"

"With your _drums_ , sweetie." Santana's scowl softens and a rare look of affection crosses her face as she turns around. "Everyone else ready? Tina, you got the bass line down?"

"Yeah, it's not too hard, as long as Sugar doesn't throw me off again."

Sugar pulls a face and huffs, but knows better than to say anything.

"Alright, let's go. Britt, the count?"

"One, two, three, four!"

*

Santana doesn't mind that everyone else found an excuse to take off and leave the clean-up to her and Brittany. It's been harder to find chances to be alone together since they've started taking the band more seriously. The Pierces' basement may be their rehearsal space, but it's also still Britt's mom's aerobics studio. Santana couldn't understand why someone would spend all that money on a VCR for tapes like _Jane Fonda's Workout_ when there was a ton of awesome porn videos out there. And then one day she went down to the basement and caught sight of Brittany in a light blue leotard and neon yellow headband and leg warmers, bent over with her hands on the floor and her ass in the air, bouncing up and down on her toes, with Jane chanting "Up! Down! Up! Down!" on the television. After Britt was done with that workout, she and Santana had one of their own.

"Where was Artie today?" Brittany asks. Quinn had argued that they weren't enough of a band yet to warrant a manager, especially since they couldn't even agree on a name. Santana's response was that if they wanted to be taken seriously, they needed to actually approach this as business-people, and not just artists. Tina's response was that currently, they really weren't either. 

"He went downtown to talk to the guy that runs that new club, Drumstix, to see if we can get a gig. I'm getting sick of opening for Acafellas. Your mom's horny friends aren't really the right audience for us. Though, if Mrs. Fabray threw her panties at me, I wouldn't be too upset."

"Yeah, I taught her in one of my Jazzercise classes. She's got a really good resting heart rate," Brittany says, as she moves her drum kit back into the corner. "Also, those are some really good legs for a mom."

The phone rings, and Santana races over to answer it. The basement line is different from the house number, and they use it for band business. Santana hopes that it's Artie with news about the club and not just Sugar forgetting her lucky guitar strap again.

"Hello?" Santana gasps into the receiver, out of breath from the dash across the basement.

"Whoa! Take a breath there." Santana visibly relaxes when she hears Artie's voice on the other end. "Did I interrupt you and Britt in the middle of something?" Santana can practically hear him leer over the phone.

"I'm gonna stop lending you my porn if you don't stop with the pervy comments, nerd," Santana says, as she plops on the couch and lets her head fall back. "So, did you talk to the dude who owns the place?"

"Yeah, except he's not a dude, he's a she. And a total babe at that. Her name's Holly Holliday and she really knows how to wear a ripped sweatshirt, if you know what I mean."

"Awesome," Santana responds dryly, "now what did _she_ say about a gig?"

"Well, they're actually pretty booked already. But, she said you guys could play on Saturday at six before the opening acts, and at midnight, after everyone else is done playing."

"And everyone is going home, and the only people who we'll be playing to at six are the janitors and the bartenders," Santana groans, kicking at the coffee table full of _Guitar_ and _Cosmo_ magazines. Brittany looks up and starts walking over to the couch. Santana can hear Artie barely breathing on the other end of the line, probably hoping if he stays quiet, she won't start cursing him out. But, his prayers aren't answered, as a stream of curses ring out in Spanish. " _Pendejo! Tu madre es una puta!_ "

"Oh, _mi madre es una puta?_ I see how it is. Call me back when you're ready to talk about my cut. Also, it might be a good idea to come up with a name, before people just start calling you Those Bitches Who Think They Can Play." And with that the phone line goes dead and Santana slams the receiver down in its cradle.

It's at this moment that Brittany reaches her, and she plops down in Santana's lap and and wraps her arms around the other girl's neck. Santana can feel her blood pressure return to normal. She's not sure what magical powers her girlfriend has, but she's grateful for them. She tilts her head back and smiles as Brittany brings her head down to kiss her.

As Brittany twists around, straddling Santana's knees and playing with her dark curls, Santana's heart rate starts to speed up again. The house is empty, Brittany's parents went to see _Top Gun_ , with that really weird short dude that had sex on a train with a really hot Rebecca DeMornay in _Risky Business_. Though they're not actually trying to hide anything from anyone. They've been publicly together since junior year of high school, even though Santana's parents are convinced that this relationship, much like the band itself, is just a phase. Brittany's parents are old hippies -- Brittany was conceived in a commune -- so they think it's awesome that they're rejecting the life of a typical middle class suburban housewife to start an all-girl band.

"Earth to Santana!" Brittany sing-songs, running her finger down Santana's nose. Santana catches the finger and pulls it to her lips for a kiss. Then she reaches up and tangles her hands in the other girl's hair and goes in for her mouth. As their lips slide together, Santana's brain shuts down, and everything she's worried about - Sugar's inability to play even the simplest riffs, whether they're ever going to get an actual paying gig, how many more conversations she's going to have with her parents about her 'future plans', where they strongly hint that those plans better not include 'rock band' or 'Brittany' in them - it all vanishes. There is nothing but this moment, this place, this girl, and her lips, and her hair, and her legs, and the weird little humming noise she makes that just might be both the most soothing and the hottest thing that Santana's ever heard.

Britt scoots closer in her lap, her long legs wrapping around Santana's back, and runs her hands up Santana's sides, pushing up her t-shirt as she does. Santana breaks the kiss and leans back, watching Brittany intently as she takes control.

The other girl nudges her to raise her arms and pulls Santana’s shirt over her head. As it comes off, their eyes connect and Britt gives her a lopsided grin. She reaches behind Santana’s back and unclasps her bra. Once it’s removed, she leans down and lightly kisses Santana. Brittany likes to take her time when it comes to sex. It used to drive Santana and her need for instant gratification nuts, but now she finds it relaxing, or as Brittany’s New Agey, yoga-going mother would say, it centers her.

Britt’s trailing kisses down her neck now, and when she reaches her breasts, she very deliberately kisses a wide berth around them, causing Santana to groan in frustration, and utter the word "Tease."

Brittany smiles widely as she kisses down toward Santana’s stomach. Santana can feel the tension in her body rising, but she knows it’s going to be awhile before it’s relieved. Sure enough, Brittany pulls up and looks seriously into Santana’s face and asks, “Do you want me to go on?”

Santana just rolls her eyes, knowing that letting Britt play a little first will pay off majorly in the end. Her girlfriend moves both their bodies until Santana’s lying on the couch, with Brittany on top of her.

Brittany’s brows scrunch as she focuses all her attention on Santana’s body. She _finally_ takes a nipple in her mouth and applies just enough suction to give Santana goosebumps.

Brittany’s hair is _everywhere_ on Santana’s skin and the ticklish sensation combined with Britt’s mouth and hands send her into overload.

Santana starts rubbing her legs together, trying to get some friction going from her jeans. Brittany giggles and goes to undo Santana’s fly. As Brittany starts peeling the denim down her legs, Santana mentally curses herself for wearing her tightest Jordaches today. Her ass may look great in them, but they’re really not conducive to having a quickie in your girlfriend’s parents’ basement.

Once Brittany gets her jeans off, she sits back on her feet between Santana’s legs, slaps her thigh and commands, “Up!” Santana readjusts herself into a reclining position on the couch, as Britt lowers her head and starts to remove Santana’s underwear at an excruciating pace. Santana lets out a huff of air, her impatience starting to show. Brittany’s got her underwear off now and gives Santana the filthiest, yet dorkiest, smile ever. Then she lowers her head and barely touches the tip of her tongue exactly where she knows Santana’s the most sensitive.

Just when Santana’s ready to start screaming every dirty word she knows, in both English and Spanish, Brittany finally relents. Santana watches her, fascinated by how even in the middle of going down on her, her girlfriend’s the most graceful person she’s ever seen. Brittany finds a rhythm -- Santana is thankful not for the first time that her girlfriend is both a dancer and a drummer -- and Santana runs her hands through the back of the other girl’s hair, quietly encouraging her. Eventually, her coaxing gets progressively louder. Santana hopes that Brittany was right about when her parents’ movie ends.

Once Brittany gets going, it’s only a few minutes before a wave of pleasure washes over Santana, and her whole body relaxes, and all the anxiety of the afternoon is gone. Who needs yoga when you have a hot girlfriend who gives great head?

Brittany rests her head briefly on Santana’s shoulder, kissing her neck and humming while Santana comes back down. Once she’s breathing normally again, Brittany smiles and asks, “Feel better?” Then kisses her sweetly on the lips.

“I’m starting to, but I’ll be awesome, once I’ve had my turn.”

Santana goes to roll them over, but Britt jumps up, grabs the clothes strewn on the floor and pulls the other girl up by her hand, saying, “We should probably go to my room before my parents get back. Besides my bed’s a lot more comfortable.”

Santana doesn’t even bother dressing before she follows Brittany up the stairs.

*

Thursday night comes and Santana and Brittany load up all the equipment into the back of Brittany’s minivan, a hand-me-down from her parents, and drive over to the roller rink. Santana grumbles the whole time about how convenient it is that everyone else had something more important to do and couldn’t help carry Britt’s monster drum kit and a bunch of sound equipment up the stairs. Brittany just rolls her eyes indulgently and hoists an amp over her shoulder and runs it up the stairs.

When they get to the rink, Tina’s still on duty at the skate rental counter. Santana crinkles her nose at even the anticipation of the smell of sweaty feet, and approaches her.

“We’re on in less than an hour. Are you going to be ready?” she asks Tina, who’s attempting to fend off the advances of an obviously stoned metalhead in a Black Sabbath t-shirt. The guy turns around and glares at her, and she bites out, “Oh give it up, Ozzy. She’s not into your type anyway. She likes ‘em blonde and permed and wearing a lot more bangly jewelry. I was going to say, with bigger breasts too, but you’ve got a pretty nice set of man boobs going on there.”

The stoner looks at Tina, who, flush with embarrassment, nods and shrugs her shoulders, turns back to Santana, glares some more, and then silently walks away. After he does, Tina turns to Santana and asks, “How did you know?”

“That you and Quinn have something going on? You two are the least subtle people I’ve ever met. Even Britt’s craftier than you guys. By the way, you don’t have time to get it on in the bathroom when she gets here, we need to be ready to go on time. Last time, Schuester threw a temper tantrum because Acafellas had to wait fifteen minutes to start, and I thought all the menopausal ladies were going to start a riot. Though, the sex hair was a really good look, so maybe make out just a little bit.”

Santana winks and Tina just rolls her eyes and goes to wait on the next customer. Santana heads over to the window of the DJ booth and waves at Artie until she gets his attention. He waves back and points at the clock and gestures. She nods and goes to find Brittany.

Britt’s out on the floor in a pair of skates, showing off for a crowd of high school kids. Santana’s not really sure why her girlfriend is so flexible, but she’s sure as hell not complaining. The other girl sees Santana and skates over to her with a big smile on her face.

“Go ask Tina to sneak you a free pair of skates and come join me,” Brittany says, as she does some sort of complicated backward spin.

Santana smiles and rolls her eyes, “You know every time I put on skates, I fall flat on my ass. And the last thing we need is for me to wind up injured right before our first actual gig. But, go have fun. Just remember, we need to start setting up in about twenty minutes.” She leans over and kisses Brittany quickly and pats her on the ass as she skates back out into the center of the rink and moonwalks, using her skates.

Quinn said she’d meet the band there by 6:15, and it’s already almost 6:30. They’re supposed to go on at seven, Santana’s starting to get nervous. She glances over at Tina, who’s cashing out the register, and would probably punch Santana dead in the face if she interrupted, so she heads over to the DJ booth instead. Artie’s inside, announcing a lady’s choice skate and starting up “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”. “Wow, Artie, there _are_ other female singers than just Cyndi Lauper, you know?”

“I know, sometimes I play Madonna,” Artie replies as he wheels around and shuts the door behind her.

“Because there are no other women currently singing pop music right now? What about some chick rock n’ rollers, like Pat Benatar or The Go-Go’s?” Santana sits up on the console and starts going through the record collection.

“Well, if you guys ever pick a name and record a song, I’ll talk to April about holding the release party right here, and I’ll debut it during couple’s skate on a Saturday night,” Artie responds, as he takes the Patti Smith record out of her hands. “And, I think I’ve got some Blondie around here that I can play next. It’ll be a good set-up for your set.”

“Speaking of sets, did you work out with Holly how much we’re going to be paid for Saturday? Or were you too busy trying to get a look down her shirt?”

“Nah, I was actually trying to get a look _up_ her skirt this time.” Noticing Santana’s increasingly tense brows and slowly tightening fists, he quickly follows up with, “But yeah, we talked about the dough. The club’s just starting out, so she said she can’t pay us more than $100 for two hours, the first at six and the second at midnight.”

“What the hell?! That has to be split six ways, and we’re going to be stuck there most of the night, waiting to go back on. And of course we’ll have to set up and break down the equipment twice. No, I need you to renegotiate with her. And do it over the phone this time, so that you aren’t distracted by her bodacious ta-tas”

“I don’t know Santana… “

“Artie, if you don’t fix this, I swear, your cut will be the first to be affected.” At that moment Santana notices Quinn heading over to Tina’s counter, so she leaves the booth, pointing at Artie with her best ‘Do-as-I-say-or-I-will-make-you-pay’ face on.

Santana’s still a few yards away when she notices that Quinn’s turned a very interesting shade of red, and figures that Tina must have told her that their secret was out.

“Hey Q, nice of you to finally join us,” Santana snarks out when she gets closer. She knows Quinn well enough to realize that making an issue of the fact that she and Tina are lezzing it up right now will only end badly for the band, so she squashes her natural urge to rile her up and instead gives her the keys to the minivan. “Can you get Britt and start carrying the gear in, please? I’m gonna call Sugar’s house and find out if she’s decided to grace us with her presence tonight or not. Part of me is hoping that she’s decided to become a Barbizon model or something.”

Quinn, still beet red, silently takes the keys and heads off. Santana turns to ask Tina for the phone when she notices the other girl’s look of surprise. “Wow, if I’d known you _weren’t_ going to start in on her immediately, I would’ve waited to say anything to Quinn.”

“I know when it’s in my best interests to keep my mouth shut. Otherwise I would’ve been dead years ago. Can I use the phone please, I’m not wasting a quarter on Sugar.”

Tina smiles as she passes her the phone and goes to join Britt and Quinn in unloading the van. As Santana starts to dial the phone, she sees Sugar walk in the door, lugging her guitar. She breathes a sigh of relief and heads toward her, telling her to go to the stage and start setting up, then heads out the door herself to get her own stuff.

Brittany and Quinn are leaning against the side of the minivan, heads tilted close together and whispering. Quinn still looks upset, and as Santana gets closer, she overhears bits and pieces of their conversation.

“Quinn, Tina’s hot, especially when she’s dressed all punk in her ripped fishnets. I totally get why you like swimming for her bun.”

“Swimming for her _what_? I swear Britt, the longer I know you, the less sense you make.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I meant her muffin,” Brittany corrects herself.

“Yeah, no, that’s still incomprehensible, hon,” Quinn sighs, and then stiffens as she sees Santana approach them.

“She means muff diving,” Santana explains, coming to the rescue yet again with her Brittany-to-English translator.

Brittany smiles as she kisses Santana on the cheek and says, “Thanks babe! I knew it had something to do with water and breakfast food!”

“Well, not exactly, muff isn’t short for muffin, it’s a furry tube that you stick your hands in to keep warm, which makes a lot of sense if you ask me.”

“Santana, ew!” Quinn gawps, as Brittany giggles. Santana just rolls her eyes, and starts pulling Britt’s bass drum out of the van.

“Wow, I hope you don’t react like that in front of Tina. It’s enough to give a girl a complex. Now get your rug munching ass over here and help me carry this crap.”

*

Defying all expectations, the band is actually ready to start performing at seven on the dot. It’s a Thursday night, so most of the kids and teenagers have headed home for dinner and homework before bed. There are a handful of burnouts in the arcade, and a few middle-aged women sitting at the tables by the snack bar, waiting for what passes for Lima, Ohio’s hottest music act, the Acafellas. Santana’s grateful that Mrs Pierce talked Will Schuester into letting the band open for them, even if the only payment April Rhodes gives them is free, greasy, snack bar food. As Artie stresses, at this point, all exposure is good exposure.

Artie wheels out to introduce them, looking hopefully at Santana as he asks, “A name yet?”

Before Santana can say anything, Brittany blurts out, “A Flock of Beagles!” At Santana’s look, she explains, “Like A Flock of Seagulls, only cuter.”

Santana’s about to protest, but Artie responds, “Yeah, that works for now,” and rolls off.

“Ladies and gentlemen! I am pleased to announce the return of Lima’s first very own all-girl rock band, now with a name! Please give it up for A Flock of Beagles!”

There is scattered applause as the girls come out to the ‘stage’ that’s really just a corner by the snack bar. Santana adjusts her guitar and looks behind her. “Ready? Britt, count us off!”

Santana’s actually impressed at how they sound. They’re not polished, but that’s not the style they’re looking for. But, they’re pretty much in tune and can keep a beat, and given where they were just a few months ago, that’s an awesome improvement. Not that these old biddies can appreciate any of that. Santana’s keeping her fingers crossed that Drumstix will open up some real opportunities for them.

They open with a song that Santana wrote, that shamelessly rips off Debbie Harry, Patti Smith and about a half dozen other women singers from the past decade. Quinn had complained that it was too derivative, but Santana pointed out that the lyrics she’d written for some music Tina had come up with sounded like she was channeling Anne Sexton from the grave. Quinn flushed and grew quiet. Santana had just rolled her eyes and wondered how long Q thought she could hide her gayness.

Speaking of which, they play Quinn’s and Tina’s song next, and the meaningful looks the two of them exchange over lyrics about running streams and pollinating honey bees makes Santana roll her eyes. She catches Brittany making a goofy face in their direction and then smiling at her, and just shakes her head and turns back around to sing the next ridiculous verse.

For their last song, they decided to cover The Go-Go’s “Head Over Heels”. It’s fun, poppy, and people can dance to it if they want. Not surprisingly, the only people dancing are Artie, April, and a couple of kids that look like they belong to some of the Acafellas’ groupies. But, then Santana turns around and sees that Brittany’s unable to stop her body from moving to the rhythm, even as she’s creating that rhythm with her drums. Santana gets inspired and starts dancing around the stage, taking advantage of the wireless mic to sing to each girl in turn -- Sugar barely acknowledges her, too focused on not screwing up her chords, Quinn pretty much rolls her eyes and looks back down at her keyboard, Tina is awesome, playing it up with her, singing into Santana’s mic, and just having a blast. Britt’s the best though, when Santana reaches her, she switches to drumming with one hand and reaches out and holds Santana’s hand over her head as Santana twirls.

They only have four songs, so the set’s over in a little under a half hour, but it’s enough to get everyone really pumped. Their audience, which started to grow as it got closer to Acafellas time to perform, never really warmed up to them, but no one seems to notice.

Artie’s got a huge grin on his face, and excuses himself to go make a phone call. From the look he gives Santana, she knows he’s calling Holly to argue a fairer deal. Sugar’s holding court with a few video game nerds, who came over at the end of the set, hoping they’d have a chance with one of the girls. Sugar’s got ridiculously high standards, but that doesn’t mean that she won’t take advantage of some horny guys if she can get some gifts out of it.

Quinn and Tina are in the corner, heads tilted close together, Tina mutters something, Quinn nods enthusiastically, and they’re gone, headed in the direction of the employee bathroom, obviously unable to wait until they get home. Santana laughs as they run by and looks for Brittany, who’s still sitting at her drum kit, blonde hair flying every which way, her light blue tank top sticking to her skin with sweat, grinning from ear to ear. She jumps up and runs to hug Santana, her heart pounding so loudly Santana can feel and hear it.

“You looked so hot, Santana,” Britt whispers in her ear, running her hands up and down Santana’s back.

“Yeah, but how did I sound?” Santana smiles to herself, knowing that Quinn and Tina aren’t the only members of the band getting lucky tonight.

“Amazing, your voice sounded just like Debbie Harry, your guitar playing was just like Nancy Wilson’s, and you were as hot as Joan Jett up there,” Brittany runs her fingertips along Santana’s arms, giving her goosebumps.

“Wow, you know just how to get into a girl’s pants, don’t you?” Santana pulls away and grins at her girlfriend.

“That’s the plan,” Brittany answers as she leans down and plants a quick kiss on Santana’s lips.

Santana looks around for the rest of the band, but all she sees are a couple dozen women, glaring at them, getting impatient for a bunch of dudes in suits to come out and sing and dance to some smooth a cappella. Santana doesn’t get it, but she realizes she’s not the intended audience. She wants to grab Britt and rush home now, before the performing high wears off, but they’ve only got fifteen minutes to clear the stage, so she sighs and starts packing stuff up.

Everything’s in its case and ready to be loaded in the cars by the time the rest of the band shows up. Santana rolls her eyes at Tina’s total sex hair, but somehow Quinn’s perm is still flawless. She gives everyone their orders and takes her own gear out to the van. On her way back to help Brittany with her drums, Artie stops her and informs her that he’s renegotiated and their pay for Saturday is $200, of which he expects the customary 20%. Santana rolls her eyes and says they’ll have to talk about this later.

Finally, all the gear is loaded, and everyone’s ride is sorted. Sugar’s got her red Corvette that she swears she didn’t convince her dad to buy simply because of the Prince song, and Quinn’s driving Tina home, which Santana refrains from turning into a dirty joke. Artie has to stay and work a few more hours after Acafellas, so he goes back into the rink.

Santana’s still really turned on, mainly from watching Brittany perform, she’s the most graceful drummer she’s ever seen, and it wasn’t like the audience would care if she spent half the show with her back to them anyway. She gets into the driver’s seat of the minivan, and turns around to check if there’s any room left in the back. As, Brittany climbs in, Santana reaches over and pulls the other girl back with her into the second row.

“You remember I got a really big and comfortable bed at home, right?” Brittany giggles, as she falls on the seat next to Santana.

Santana’s too busy hiking up Brittany’s skirt to respond. It’s rare that she’s this aggressive when it comes to sex, but once in awhile something comes over her. She looks up at Britt, who shrugs and leans in for a kiss.

As their lips come together and Santana licks her way into Brittany’s mouth, her hand finds its way to the front of the other girl’s miniskirt. Britt leans back against the window, briefly breaking the kiss to make sure the parking lot is empty, as Santana’s body follows hers.

Brittany grabs the sides of Santana’s head with both her hands and pulls her back in to continue kissing, opening her legs wide, giving Santana direct access to her underwear. Santana doesn’t waste any time taking them off, unlike Brittany, she doesn’t like to drag things out. Her girlfriend is already wet, so she skips the formalities and inserts two fingers, crooking upwards toward the spot she knows will send Brittany over the edge. Sometimes she just likes it quick and dirty. Also, while there’s a certain thrill to semi-public sex, she’d rather not have Lima’s entire gossip mill catch them _in flagrante delicto_.

Brittany comes hard, convulsing and banging her head against the window. Santana stops mid-motion, pulls away from the other girl’s lips, and asks, “Are you okay?!”

Britt nods, rubbing the back of her head, whining out a needy, “Don’t stop yet!”

Santana soothingly kisses the side of the girl’s head and resumes the movement of her hand, using her thumb to add some pressure to the bundle of nerves slightly higher up, while Brittany starts to come again.

This time, Britt keeps her arm behind her head, to protect herself, and once she’s come down, she sits back up and notices the smug grin on Santana’s face. She mutters, “What?” in response to the look, and Santana shrugs.

“Just, two orgasms and we haven’t even left the parking lot. I guess I just am _that good_.”

Brittany runs her hand down Santana’s arm and replies, “Well, if you take me home, I can have my turn and we can compare.”

Santana’s in the front seat, pulling out of the lot before Brittany’s got her skirt pulled back down.

*

Even though they’d played pretty well on Thursday, Santana wants to make sure they’re super prepared for Saturday night, so she calls an extra rehearsal for Friday afternoon. To her great surprise, Sugar actually shows up and works her ass off. Apparently, one of the dweebs from the roller rink is the nephew of a New York music agent, and he’s looking for the next Madonna. Santana doesn’t care whether it’s true or not, as long as it’s got Sugar motivated. Quinn, on the other hand, refuses to say more than two words to her. Santana looks questioningly at Tina, but all she can do is shrug.

After everyone else leaves, she and Brittany go upstairs to watch _Dallas_. People think that Britt’s an airhead, but when Pam woke up to find a not-dead Bobby in the shower, she was the only one who figured out that the whole season had been a dream. All summer, when she mentioned it, people would laugh at her. Santana wanted to pay a special visit to each of them personally after the season premiere proved her right, but Brittany convinced her not to.

They’re cuddling on the couch when Brittany observes, “Quinn seemed really upset today.”

Santana stays quiet, letting Brittany make her point.

“She told me that you said something to Tina about how we figured out they were sleeping together. I asked you not to say anything. Now Quinn’s all freaked out and Tina’s kinda pissed off. You know her parents are really religious. They aren’t like yours, where they just pretend you being a lesbian will go away. She might need to find another place to live, and she doesn’t make enough at The Gap to afford her own place.”

Santana sighs. “I wasn’t going to say anything to her _parents_ , seriously.”

“Still, this is all really new for her. Remember how badly you freaked out when we first got together? She has a right to do this on her own timetable Santana.”

Santana sighs, nods her head, and makes a mental note to pull Quinn aside at some point tomorrow night to apologize.

They turn their attention back to the show and Santana’s so exhausted that she falls asleep before it’s halfway over. Brittany wakes her up and leads her to her bedroom. Within minutes of changing, she’s under the covers and fast asleep in a way that never happens when she’s alone.

*

Saturday afternoon, the whole band, even Sugar, gather at Britt’s for a quick meeting and to load up all the gear. When Santana pulls into the parking lot, she sees Artie waiting with a fairly attractive blonde. She approaches them and the woman extends her hand.

“You must be Santana, I’m Holly Holliday, welcome,” she smiles and looks over Santana’s shoulder at the rest of the band.

“Hi Miss Holliday, thanks for hiring us,” Santana replies, in her most polite voice.

“Oh, call me Holly! And now, introduce me to everyone!”

Santana is taken aback by Holly’s cheerfulness. It’s better suited to a kindergarten teacher than a club owner, but she’s not going to complain. After shaking everyone’s hand, she tells them she’s going to send someone out to help carry in the equipment, surprising Santana yet again.

With the extra hands, everything gets done very fast. They’re set up on stage and ready to go by 5:30. Santana uses the extra time for them to get in a last minute practice. As Santana expected, there really isn’t anyone in the club yet besides staff, but Holly actually sits at the bar and watches them warm up, and a couple of the people on set-up actually seem to be responding to the music. A dude lugging a case of wine coolers up from the basement gives them a thumb’s up.

At six on the dot, the club officially opens to a handful of junior high kids with early curfews, who still want to be able to say that they spent Saturday at the hottest club in Lima, and some serious drinkers, who make a beeline to their favorite bar stools. Holly introduces them herself, getting some chuckles when she mentions their name. Then the band launches into their set.

It’s the same set they played on Thursday; but Santana can feel a difference in the energy. They’re playing at an actual rock club, and not a roller rink, a VFW hall, or her cousin Elisa’s _quinceañera_. This is probably a tiny moment in what she hopes is the band’s long history, but it feels majorly significant.

Some of the kids get up and hop around in a loose interpretation of the word ‘dance’, sipping on their sodas and virgin cocktails. This crew is too young to even pretend to get away with fake IDs. After “Head Over Heels”, Santana’s still so buzzed, she turns around on a whim and shouts, “We’re gonna try ‘The Tide is High’!”

Quinn looks up in surprise, but starts fiddling with the buttons on her synthesizer. Sugar looks like a deer in headlights. Santana points at a pair of maracas on top of an amp and says, “Shake those if you don’t know the chords.” Then she turns back around to the audience, grinning ear to ear.

*

After their first set is over, Sugar takes off in her Corvette, claiming low blood sugar and the need to eat something. She promises that she’ll be back before midnight, but Santana’s not putting money down on it. She catches Quinn and Tina just as they’re running off for some privacy, and asks Quinn if she can talk to her for a minute. Quinn looks wary, but Tina kisses her cheek and says, “Go ahead honey. This is important,” with a look directed at Santana that reads ‘if you make her cry, you will _pay_ ’. Santana wonders if that’s what she looks like when someone upsets Brittany.

The club is too noisy, so they go outside and sit. Quinn just looks expectantly at Santana, with a mixture of tension and weariness. Now that they’re here, Santana doesn’t know how to begin. Then she remembers what Britt had said last night.

“I’m sorry Quinn. I, of all people, should have been more understanding of what you’re going through. I’m just so used to bagging on you about everything, it didn’t even dawn on me how big a deal this was, and how scared you might be. I was more focused on the fact that something that big was happening and you didn’t bother mentioning it to me. Again, I’m sorry.”

Quinn looks surprised at Santana’s rare show of sincerity. She responds with an apology of her own, “I’m sorry too, Santana. I thought about telling, I swear. But then, that would mean this is all really real, and that’s a lot for me to handle. Plus, you don’t have a great track record with empathy, as we well know.”

“So, do you want to talk about this now? Do Russell and Judy have any idea?”

“My father is too busy working, drinking, and screwing random women to notice _anything_ I do nowadays. I could come home tomorrow with my hair dyed pink and he’d let it go without a word. My mom, on the other hand, keeps encouraging me to invite Tina for dinner. She doesn’t actually say outright that she thinks we’re dating, but she keeps talking about what a nice, pretty girl that Tina is. It’s weird.”

“Huh, go Judy. I wonder if she had any sapphic experiences in her college days in the ‘50s.”

“Santana! That’s my _mother_ you’re talking about. Please, for the love of God, stop it.” Quinn covers her face with her hands.

“What? Your mom’s hot, Quinn. I thought you dug chicks.”

“Yeesh, Santana. She’s still my mom! Do you look at your mother like that?”

“Well, my mother’s got a fabulous pair of legs if I do say so myself,” Santana winks.

Quinn just groans and shakes her head.

“So, seriously again. This thing with you and Tina, it’s real?”

“Yeah, I know she tends to be quiet around people, but when we’re alone, she’s so smart and sweet and funny. And even though she acts all cooler than thou and badass in public, she secretly geeks out to video games. It’s adorable.” Quinn’s entire facial expression softens, and her eyes get a faraway look and her mouth curls into a tiny smile.

Santana smiles back, “Britt’s the same way about rock collecting. It’s really cute.”

“Brittany collects rocks?”

Santana nods, “Yeah, at first I thought she just thought they were pretty, but it turns out that she knows all about the different types and how they’re created and everything. She’s the one that had this quartz crystal turned into a pendant for me.” She pulls a silver chain out from under her shirt, with a small purple crystal on it.

“Wow, huh. And I thought you were just trying to channel Stevie Nicks tonight with the long skirt and the scarf on the mic stand.”

“Oh, I totally am, but the necklace was all Britt’s nerdery. So, you know, if you ever want to compare notes on our girlfriends’ techniques, just let me know.”

Quinn just laughs and shoves Santana’s shoulder, “You’re such a perv!”

“Pervy and proud. If you’d ever like any tips, just let me know. C’mon, lets go inside and dance with those hot, geeky girlfriends of ours.”

As they get up to go back inside, Quinn gives Santana’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Neither girl has ever been particularly affectionate with each other, or with most people in general, so Santana’s momentarily taken aback. Then she does the only thing she can think to do, she grabs Quinn and hugs her.

*

The four girls and Artie dance for awhile, but between the drunks who keep coming precariously close to knocking Artie’s chair over, and the pervs who think that a group of girls dancing together is an invitation for them to come over and touch them inappropriately, they give up on that fairly quickly. They find a table in the corner, and Santana brings up switching around the setlist some more.

“I have no idea if Sugar’s coming back or not, but if she doesn’t have the music down, she can just pick up the maracas again.”

“I just need to know ahead of time what songs you might suddenly want to perform, so that I can make sure the synth is programmed. You’re lucky we were messing around with “The Tide is High” the other night, and I actually had it ready to go,” Quinn comments, as she sips her sea breeze.

“Well, Holly told me that there’s some scheduling issues,” Artie says, and Santana automatically tenses up. “And she was wondering if you guys could go on at eleven instead. She’s willing to raise the fee to $300 dollars.”

Santana gapes in shock. “That’s an extra hundred dollars!”

Meanwhile Quinn freaks out. “That’s an extra hour of songs!”

“So, yes or no? I need to give her my answer soon,” Artie states.

“Yes! Why would it be anything other than yes,” Tina tells him.

“Don’t forget that this means an increase in my cut,” he reminds them as he rides off to find Holly.

“I think we should close with ‘Landslide’,” Brittany says, quietly. “You already look like Stevie Nicks, and it isn’t too complicated.”

“That’s perfect Britt. Now, we just need to figure out how to fill the other fifty-five minutes.”

It takes them about fifteen minutes, but they manage to get a workable two hour set. It’s mostly covers, but there’s about four originals as well. It dawns on Santana that Sugar doesn’t know they’re going on an hour earlier, so she finds a pay phone and tries her at home. When she picks up, Santana can hear _The Golden Girls_ on in the background.

“If you’re planning on getting paid tonight, you’ve got about a half hour to get here, because we’re going on at eleven now, and we need to prepare.”

“Wait, so now we have to play for another whole _hour_? I hope we’re getting paid more.”

“Getting more playing time is a good thing, and you won’t be getting paid anything if you don’t get your butt back here, pronto,” Santana threatens, and slams the phone back on its hook.

Sugar actually shows up at quarter after ten. Santana’s pretty much run out of patience with her, so she tells Tina to go over the setlist with her.

She finds Brittany dancing with a well-built Oriental guy, who’s obviously got some banging moves. Brittany’s grinning like mad. She enjoys dancing with Santana, but it’s obvious that she likes the fact that this dude really knows what he’s doing. The song ends, and Britt notices her standing there, smiling at them showing off.

“Santana, I’d like you to meet my friend from dance, Mike Chang, no relation to Tina, I asked.”

The guy offers his hand to Santana, smiles and says, “Wow, so you’re _the_ Santana? Brittany talks about you all the time. When she told me you guys were playing tonight, I had to come down and finally meet you.”

Santana takes his hand and quirks her brow. “What does she say about me?”

Mike nervously glances over at Brittany, then turns back to Santana and squeaks out, “Um, that you’re an okay dancer, but really, really good in bed,” blushing furiously.

Santana laughs and gives Britt a quick kiss, “That’s my girl. By the way, Sugar’s finally here. Tina’s going over the setlist with her, but we need to get set up now.”

Santana pulls Brittany away by her arm, and Britt waves at Mike as he calls after them, “Nice to meet you, Santana! Have an awesome show!”

By the time they get to the stage, some of the club’s staff, under Quinn’s direction, have already set up for their next set. Tina and Sugar are at the bar, where it looks like Sugar’s attempting to flirt with the bartender, but he seems a lot more interested in Tina. Santana chuckles quietly when she sees Quinn suddenly appear behind Tina, wrapping her arms around her possessively. Quinn and Tina are going to be just fine.

Santana gestures at them to come to the stage. When everyone gets there, she asks if everyone’s got the set down. Quinn, Tina, and Britt nod their heads. The hesitant look on Sugar’s face should have Santana more worried than she is, but they were _rad_ earlier, and Santana refuses to let Sugar’s complete lack of preparation bum her out. She just reminds her that they have the maracas, and a tambourine, and standing in the back and swaying is always an option.

Everyone’s in their places when Holly comes out and introduces them to the crowd, which is a lot more sizable at eleven than Santana would have thought. Holly makes a point of praising their earlier set and sounds genuinely excited. When she mentions that she hopes to have them back soon, Santana gets chills.

All the other bands that had performed tonight were guys. When the lights go up on stage, and the clubgoers realize that they’re an all-girl band, there are some stray catcalls and whistles, but then they start to play Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ‘n Roll” and suddenly the energy changes. As all five girls sing the chorus on repeat at the end of the song, Santana, for the first time, knows for certain what her future is.

For the next two hours, Santana is in heaven. People are obviously enjoying themselves, singing along when they recognize a song, cheering and clapping after each one is finished. She’s pretty sure that she’s even got a minor groupie situation going on in front of the stage, where a couple of little-bitty lesbians are swooning over her every word and doing everything short of throwing their undergarments at her to get her attention. During a guitar solo, she smiles and heads downstage toward them, but she tries not to acknowledge them too much. That kind of drama is the last thing she needs.

They close with Landslide, just as Brittany had suggested. The spare, stripped-down nature of the song is counter-intuitive to the rest of their set, but it just _works_. As she sings, Santana looks around at the rest of the girls, and it occurs to her that not only is she finally heading in the direction of her dream, she’s doing it with the people she loves the most; well, and Sugar. On the last verse, the rest of the band spontaneously starts to quietly sing back-up.

*

With the help of the club staff, getting the gear packed and loaded is done in no time. Holly comes out of her office and waves a check in front of her. She says, “Normally I’d hand this over to Artie here, but I figured this was a special moment for you girls, so here. Each of you girls, take a hold of it for a bit and remember this moment. When you’re out in LA, drinking Dom Perignon and eating caviar with Clive Davis, remember how you started, and what it felt like. Artie, I’ll call you Monday about booking some more gigs.”

Normally Santana would roll her eyes at this hippie nonsense, but she gets it now. The girls all hold onto the check together as Holly drops it and walks away. After a few seconds, Santana gently pulls it toward her and realizes that it’s for $600 with a note in the memo field ‘to be split evenly six ways’. She must be gaping, because everyone else squeezes in for a look, and then there’s a collective shout. Santana looks for Holly, but she’s gone home.

After some debate, Artie is tasked with keeping the check safe until it can be cashed on Monday. He mentions something about a girl he promised to call later, and takes off. Sugar turns to the rest of the band and states that she has a big announcement. Apparently the New York City talent agent was in the audience tonight, and he’s interested in representing her in a solo music-slash-modeling career.

“Whoa, wait. Out of all of us, he approached _you_?” Tina asks the question on everyone’s mind.

“Apparently, I’m the most marketable,” Sugar says.

“More like the most gullible,” Santana mutters under her breath.

“I didn’t catch that Santana.”

“Nothing, so what are you planning on doing?”

“I’m moving to New York, of course! I just need to get my dad to find me an apartment. Preferably something on the Upper East Side, far away from the starving artists downtown.”

“So, you’re telling us that you quit the band?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I know it’s last minute, and you have some gigs coming up. I hope you’re okay without me.”

“Oh, I think we’ll manage,” Quinn responds dryly.

“Well, like Holly said, it’s been a memorable experience. Just send my cut of the check to my dad. He’ll make sure I get it. And look me up if you’re ever in New York! I’ll never be too famous for my friends!” With that, Sugar heads out the door, gets into her red Corvette and speeds off.

Everyone stares at each other in silence for a couple moments. Then Brittany asks, “Is she for real?”

With that, everyone breaks out into laughter.

Santana notices Mike Chang heading their way. He's clapping and smiling. "You girls were _amazing_! Let me know the next time you're playing and I'll bring my whole crew down."

He turns to Quinn and Tina, shakes their hands and introduces himself, "I'm Mike, and you guys must be Tina and Quinn. Nice to finally meet you."

Tina looks questioningly at Santana, who replies, "Britt's friend from dance." Tina and Quinn thank Mike, then Tina grabs Quinn’s hand and tilts her head toward the door. Quinn waves at Santana and Brittany and says she’ll call them at Britt’s tomorrow. Santana is just about to yell out a really dirty comment when Brittany elbows her. “I know what you’re thinking, and don’t.”

Santana sighs and replies, “Fine, it wasn’t even that funny anyway.”

Mike turns to Santana and reiterates, "No, really. You were awesome! Brittany wasn't lying when she said she had the most amazing girlfriend."

Santana grins at Brittany, who rolls her eyes and says, "Great, now it's going to go to her head."

"You were great too, Brittany. Now I get what you mean about playing the drums being like dancing. Maybe you can teach me sometime?"

Britt nods enthusiastically. "I love to teach people new things! Anytime, just call first. In case Santana and I need to put our clothes back on." She winks at Santana, who just laughs.

Mike turns four shades darker and stammers, "A-anyway, I gotta get home. I have an early class tomorrow. See you on Tuesday, Britt. Hope to see you soon, Santana."

They wave goodbye, then Santana turns around to the taller girl and looks up at her, noticing that she’s pulling on something in her hands. When she looks closer, she recognizes her scarf from the mic stand.

“What are you doing with that?”

“Testing to see how much pressure it can take. I’m wondering if it will hold if I tie you to my bed with it.” The expression on Brittany’s face is so filthy, it should be illegal in public.

Santana scrambles to get her stuff, and then pulls Brittany out to the parking lot. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

She didn’t think it was possible for tonight to get any better, but it just did.


End file.
